


Magic, and the Ways Home

by thisnewjoe



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alive Hale Family, Alive Talia Hale, Alpha Talia Hale, Dead Hales, Derek Hale is Bad at Feelings, Derek is Not a Failwolf, Emissary Stiles Stilinski, Full Shift Werewolves, Hale Family Feels, Hurt Stiles, M/M, Magical Stiles Stilinski, Mental Link, Presumed Dead, Sarcastic Stiles, Stiles wants to be like Harry Dresden, Talia sees all, Wolf Derek Hale
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-17
Updated: 2018-07-17
Packaged: 2019-06-11 17:33:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 17,669
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15320625
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thisnewjoe/pseuds/thisnewjoe
Summary: This was written as part ofSterek Reverse Bang 2018, and was created based on an artwork prompt by misspeanutbutter-jelly-fish.While Stiles is uncovering an unexpected connection with a family who was lost in a fire several years before, Derek is discovering a whole new world as a full-shift wolf in his dreams. They embarrass themselves and each other, and while they're saving the day, Talia watches with a smile as the two of them get closer together.





	1. Connections to the Past

**Author's Note:**

> This is the longest fic I've ever published, and it's intended to be fairly lightweight and fun to read.
> 
> Comments, suggestions for improvements and alterations, suggestions for new scenes, and corrections to the published piece are welcome!

"Kid, I don't have the faintest idea what you get up to when I'm gone, and I hope you don't get yourself in any more trouble. I have to go to work." John is about to say something else, then decides against it. Stiles is just about to wave him off when his dad stops and says, "Just don't start any more fires. I'm serious: Not even candles when you're home alone."

"HEY!" Stiles huffed.

"Don't 'hey' me, Stiles. I still catch whiffs of smoke in there from when you tipped the candles over." He wipes his face, only partly covering the worry.

Well, setting the table on fire wasn't part of the plan, but it wasn't his fault! That fire wasn't arson, it was an accident. The dining room wasn't supposed to catch fire, and the stupid spellbook didn't mention that the candle was going to dive off the table toward the nearest flammable object. "That whole thing was a simple accident."

"Yes, you keep saying that, and you're still grounded from anything involving fire. You're lucky I let you in the kitchen, kid. You're a hazard."

"Fine, yes, I know. It was expensive and embarrassing and you got freaked-out and I understand that. Really, though, I haven't gone anywhere near matches or open flames or--" he checks his mental inventory for a moment, "nope: nothing flammable in my life, lately."

"What about flamethrowers?"

"While that would be fun, I don't even know where to find one."

"It wouldn't be fun, you'd burn yourself before you figured out how to use it. And it's illegal, anyway." His father rolls right over Stile's protest about how unfair it is to judge him for what he knows would be a great time. But Stiles is getting annoyed, and though he'll regret it immediately after saying it, he can't stop himself.

"Molotov Cocktails. Those are pretty easy to make."

This is the moment Stiles should have noticed the intake and warning silence. Anyone else would have been cowed at seeing the Sheriff in uniform making that expression, but when Stiles' brain caught-up to how far he'd crossed the line, he clamped his jaw shut and avoided making eye contact.

"Grounded. No fire of any kind from any source. Got it?"

"I'm sorry. I know how to make them, but I've never tried and I have no reason."

"I don't have time to discuss what a problem it is for me that you know that, and—" he raises a stern finger to his son, "I don't want to know. I'm going to work, I'm going to have a great shift, and you'll be here when I get back."

Things have been tense in the house lately, and only partly because Stiles is dealing with some nightmares lately. They've gotten worse as he's done more magic, and though he's kept that entire field of study out of his father's notice, the impact of trying to fix so many broken things is causing a palpable tension in the house.

The Sheriff watches Stiles for a moment. Stiles is upset, but not so bad that they need to talk about it right now. "I love you, kid. Try not to get in trouble today."

Stiles replies with a hug that says, "I'm sorry," and, "I love you, too," all at once. His dad gets it, and they both relax a little.

* * *

Stiles sets the snack plate to the side and pulls a folder from inside his desk. He opens it, and gently combs through everything inside. He stops at the Hale family portrait.

It's shot wide, and fits all the Hales and some of their relatives from out-of-town. The several parents and siblings and cousins are lined-up in even rows in the sunshine. There are fluffy clouds above the evergreen treeline, and the large house is off to the side, half-hidden behind pine boughs. The back of the portrait has "The Pack" written on it in almost machine-precise handwriting.

Stiles looks at the familiar faces. As far as he knows, he's never interacted with any of them in his life. He wasn't even a teenager when they died in the house fire, and Cora went to a different elementary school than he had. Derek and Alex and Toddy were old enough that each was already in high school by the time Stiles started his first year in middle school.

By the time he notices he's started hearing their voices again, he shuts the folder. If he stays with them too long, he starts to see double, both the moment the picture was taken and the moment of the present. It had taken months before he stopped having headaches when the double-vision happened, and he started trusting it as a definite _something_ he wanted to know more about.

He'd scoured the library and tapped all his science teachers for ideas of what it could be, and of the few who took his question seriously, none of them had a scientific answer. The others just wrote him off as diving down some irrelevant and time-wasting tangent, as usual. He'd doubted his own sanity several times, but always came back to how consistent this was, and it was almost exclusively when the Hales were involved.

The first time the seeming connection between him and the Hales started, nobody put the pieces together. Nobody except Stiles had come out of the event wondering why he thought about the Hale family so much. His father ended up demanding he stop asking about it, and Melissa would always tell him it was just a bad dream and he shouldn't make anything of it. He'd never known them in life, but what happened to him on the night they died was a huge clue to him, even if nobody else thought so.

Stiles was eleven and having a game night and sleepover at Scott's house. Some hours after all of them had gone to sleep, according to Scott, Stiles had started a terrifying scream that woke the house up.

Melissa and Rafe weren't able to calm him down, and Scott was crying about whatever had gone wrong with his best friend. Melissa's nurse training taught her that these symptoms were night terrors, and had assumed this was the same until Stiles had suddenly passed-out and gone limp. That was the moment it switched from unfortunate to frightening for the three of them.

When he'd suddenly passed-out, the two adults got Stiles and Scott wrapped in blankets and headed out the front door. Melissa climbed into the back seat and took Stiles from Rafe, freeing her husband to get Scott seated in the front and shushing his many worried questions. Rafael drove to the hospital, and Melissa called ahead to let them know to get ready to receive Stiles. She then called the Sheriff. Scott twisted-around in his seat to watch his best friend laying weakly against his mother while she'd broken the news to John.

* * *

During the time Stiles had been investigating the case, he'd gotten the feeling there was something abnormal about what had happened to the Hales. Something didn't sit right with him, and he brought it up with his father a few years later. Though he was dodging most of the direct questions Stiles asked him, the Sheriff eventually told him he also wasn't satisfied with the case.

They'd had a brief discussion, and when Stiles found that sweet spot where he got as much info as he could without actually irritating his father, he let the question rest.

And then he waited.

John hates loose ends. His path into law enforcement came partly as a result of getting mugged on a visit to San Francisco during a college roadtrip with his friends. From that day on, he'd worked hard to figure out who could have done it, and how the evidence fits together. John ended up identifying the robber and gave the police the evidence about who she was. It was for drug money, in the end, trying to get another high before passing-out and avoiding facing her life. It was a waste, and John felt it was better for her to be in a court-ordered detox than let her roam free.

That's also when John discovered his love for discovering the right answer and diving-in on an investigation.

It was in light of that history that Stiles knew he could get his father to take a fresh look at the Hale files if only he felt there was some shred of hope he'd discover something new.

When Stiles came into the house a week later, the Sheriff had the Hale files spread across the dining room table and the nearby chairs. He had been frowning at the piles, looking for something new in them, when Stiles came over to join him.

"Hey kid. You know, I've seen all of this stuff, lots of times, and I still have nothing. I hate this case."

"Umm. Mind if I look?"

John had been reluctant to expose his son to the kind of work he sometimes had to deal with in law enforcement, but he'd discovered Stiles had a kind of curiosity that made him a good junior detective, and as Stiles matured, John shared more details with him of things they were working on.

Over time, the habit they'd developed was one that helped John find a new perspective on old cases, and benefitted from his son's particular ways of thinking without getting him directly involved in the investigations.

"You didn't see anything, Stiles." It was his usual warning. "These were never here, and you certainly didn't talk with me about them."

It was barely a threat anymore. Even so, Stiles always nodded eagerly. These were like a treat, and he started rummaging through the pieces. His father was going to warn him about not messing-up the organization system, then just pointed to one and said, "Avoid this one; it's got some pictures you don't need to see."

Stiles nodded, distracted with the papers in front of him. John walked into the kitchen to get some water for them both. Stiles silently dove for the folder with the pictures, scattering other papers around and dropping some on the floor.

"Kid, if you make a mess of my files, you're going to stay up and put them all back in the _exact_ order they were in when I brought them home."

"Right! Got it. Not a problem." The top pictures were snapshots of the house from various angles. It was easy to imagine how beautiful a home it had been, and it's become only a charred ruin in the middle of the Preserve. It was all Hale land, owned by their great grandparents before Beacon Valley was anothing more than a place where freight rail lines passed through. A few pictures below that they started to show pictures of the grittier side of the investigation. He breezed through them, not remotely interested in any of that.

The picture that caught his attention was sitting sideways, almost calling attention to itself in it's out-of-place orientation against the rest of the organized stack. Its edges were charred, but it showed the house as it was before the fire. It was the picture Stiles would slip into his bookbag before he started taking snapshots of some of the other documents. He'd already snagged some before without his father noticing, but his dad had usually been diligent about not letting him near the files. Stiles wasn't about to lose this chance.

John came back in and moved Stiles' bookbag from the chair, leaning it against the wall. Stiles tried not to look nervous and ended up flailing a piece of paper off the desk.

"I told you: Be careful, Stiles."

"Yes, sorry." He stopped for a moment. "This is odd." He holds a carbon copy of a receipt out, leaving it protected in the sealed plastic bag. "What is this from?"

"That is a big mystery, and apparently the key to the puzzle. An anonymous tipster sent that to us in the mail. It includes fingerprints from someone we can't identify. It arrived the day after the fire."

Stiles looked again at the receipt. It was the biggest clue he'd never seen before. To the Sheriff he asked, "The Hales could have been saved?"

"Not exactly. The fingerprint would probably tell us who did it, but not necessarily that it was for the Hale fire. If we happened to have had this early enough, we might have caught the person in the act of preparing to hit the house."

"The medical examiner and Fire Marshall agree that this looks like natural deaths from a house fire. You sound like you don't believe it."

"I never have. This case just doesn't sit right. Maybe it's because I was distracted with what happened to you that first night. I don't know, but this is all there is to the Hale family, anymore."

Stiles returned to the piles. He started pulling pieces out, putting things next to each other, or stacking them. John couldn't tell what he was looking for.

There aren't many momens when John has the time and patience to watch Stiles working on a puzzle. When he got that opportunity, he tried to pay attention. Stiles was was incredible. For all his seeming incapacity in dealing with individual details, and failure to follow a set schedule without a bunch of reminders on his phone or Scott dragging him to their next classes, Stiles would be a lot farther behind in school.

But today, John got to see Stiles at his best: The abstract thinking, the pulling together clues in ways that remind him of those procedural special investigations shows they sometimes watch together. Though Stiles will miss things like time passing, and he'll sometimes forget to eat or sleep, he often comes up with some interesting and insightful results. John has had too many times of coming home after a long overnight shift and discovering his son still awake, caught-up in researching whatever the classroom topic was that day.

He remembers the time he found-out that Stiles stayed-up for almost two days straight to write a paper on the history of male circumcision and turned it in to his teacher instead of doing the project he was assigned. Some disagreement had started between them in class, and despite asking both his son and the teacher about it, neither of them had a satisfactory answer.

John pulls himself out of his quiet reverie and notices Stiles is holding the paper up to the light. He's turning it and bending the page. Something catches his eye.

He's gone for several seconds and returns, breathing rapidly. "Wait! Don't put those away!" He lets a wooshing breath out. "I really gotta work out more."

"You said you were going to join Scott in the La Crosse trials. When are those?"

"Tomorrow! Thanks! I forgot. But check this out..." He gently stacks the paperwork on the table to the side and gently breaks the seal on the paper.

"No! Don't touch the paper, Stiles! You can't get even a hair in that package."

"I know. That's why I'm not going to touch it." John only just then realizes Stiles put on the black nitrile gloves Stiles used when he was into painting miniatures. "These will keep my fingerprints off, and this—" he pulls the tracing paper out and sets it on the receipt. He grabs a very light charcoal from an art set bought ages ago for a class in elementary school and watches Stiles trace back and forth over the tracing paper, carefully avoiding any possible damage to the receipt.

When several more quiet seconds pass, Stiles puts the charcoal pencil down, returns the receipt carefully to the bag, uses compressed air to clear any potential hair evidence out of the bag, and seals it again. 

John is impressed and worried that Stiles can get the seal closed again without it seeming like it had been broken. He makes a mental note to have the station admin order better bags for the future.

Stiles snaps a picture of the tracing paper and then hands his dad the paper itself, with a white paperboard behind it to contrast the areas with charcoal against those without.

"Do you know what this is?"

It is a fancy-looking diamond. No, it's an arrowhead. And barely visible, just behind the tip of the arrow is a tiny decal. "Is that a Fleur-de-lis?"

"Yes. Do you know what it means?"

"No, but this is the best new thing about this case in ages. Thank you, kid. I gotta look into this tomorrow, after I catch some sleep."

"Have a good night, dad. I'm going to do homework and get to bed, too."

"Yeah, right. You're going to go looking for that thing, aren't you?"

Stiles grabs his bag and heads upstairs. "Good night!"

"I love you, too, kid." He adds in an undertone, so low that Stiles couldn't hear him. "I hope you can finally get a good night's sleep."

Stiles doesn't get a good night's sleep. He dreams a new nightmare, of arrows and silver and blinking red and yellow lights in the distance. There's rumbling and fighting somewhere, and he can't see anything but smoke.

He wakes, panting. There's the smell of metal in the air, and he doesn't know why he's crying, but it takes an hour before he can get back to sleep again. It's a fitful few hours, and not very restful, but there are no new nightmares.


	2. Cake and Bacon!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Derek has a very awkward morning.

Derek prowls the territorial border. There's a deer nearby, and he's trying to stay silent and downwind so he can get it before it crosses the line. They've got plenty of food, but it's not often that big game will wander close enough to the camp that they can catch it.

If he's successful in his hunt, he'll be hero for the day. The pack practices hunting and play fighting daily. They rotate through different sets of routines, some mixed martial arts, some things they've figured-out on their own. They challenge each other to excel, to anticipate effectively, and to be able to fight with more skill and power and grace in their movements. Derek enjoys the games, and often needs some down time afterward to be by himself.

It's fine enough to be training with the pack, but there's a unique thrill in winning a one-to-one chase against an animal that's wandered a little too close to the pack land.

Before he'd caught the scent of the deer, he'd been thinking of the days when he would come back from school and basketball practice and just spend time being alone. It was a good few years after he'd managed to get full control of his shift and not flash his eyes whenever he was angry or frustrated. The worst he got was a spot in a quiet corner somewhere that he could read. He stayed out of most of the rest of what was going on with everyone.

Sometimes on these long walks, Derek ponders the familiar mantra, derived generations ago by a great-grandparent and passed-along to the young teen wolves in the family as they began shifting:

_Three things cannot be long hidden: the sun, the moon, and the truth._

The last part had been bothering him: "the truth." He didn't know what it was, specifically, but he'd been feeling more tense lately. It's like he's constantly hearing some far away sound and he can't pinpoint it. It's irritating to not know what it is, and it can't be fully ignored. In the back of everything is the noise, the drip of a faucet, or the distant hiss of steam through radiator coils. When Derek mentioned it to his mother, she'd looked at him like there was a lot on her mind. She said nothing in particular about it, and invited him to keep her updated as his dream changes.

It was during his morning run, amd just before the whisp of animal scent caught his attention, that he realized she seemed to have been expecting it. Never in all their time together had she asked him about his dreams. As of yesterday, she wanted him to keep her updated on them.

He had been sneaking closer to the grazing deer over the last couple minutes. It was close to the barrier, and he wanted to drive it farther toward camp so he might have a chance to catch it before it runs beyond the line they couldn't cross.

Ironically, the boundary line marking their current territory allowed the passage of all other creatures. Coyotes, deer, rabbits, and various smaller animals all could cross the line. The pack sometimes snacked on them to break the monotony of the berries and tubers and fruits they were able to gather. Never, however, was there ever a human who came near. The humans inside the camp usually stayed away from the border, and reported feeling a general confusion and distraction the closer they got. The wolves were unaffected by this, and everyone agreed that this was probably the same effect to humans who might approach from the outside.

Whoever set this up had done a very good job protecting them all from interference. He just wishes he could remember why it was even necessary.

It was the moment of distraction back into that train of thought that caused him to miss when his target turned and walked slowly across the border. He roared in frustration at it, and it ran away, nearly clobbering itself on a tree as it escaped.

His human side recognized the irony of what it means to have stunned prey within sight, and beyond possible reach. The wolf side felt frustrated at a dissatisfying conclusion to the hunt. Derek ran again to let the adrenaline work through his system.

* * *

He's pawing through the forest, shifted fully into wolf form, and barely aware of it. It feels natural, and welcome. He sniffs the air and lets the nearly forgotten smells of the plants of the Preserve come to mind. These don't grow around the camp they're in now. The season is the same, but the environment is definitely miles away from their old him. The hills and mountains in their home for the past several years are the shape of places he doesn't think he's ever been before.

Wait. If this is the Preserve, how did he get here? 

It feels real, right now. It's not a dream, but he can't be here. He can't full-shift, either. That's mostly something people with power like pack Alphas can do, and Derek is not interested in that kind of power and the many problems that come with it.

He stretches himself out in a downward wolf, then leans into a sunward wolf, feeling how the yoga moves work so differently in a canine body. It feels _really_ good. But this body is huge, and when he tries, he can't shift.

Well, based on the fact that he's probably a foot taller than even the larger natural wolves, he decides not to worry about it.

Maybe now he can catch a deer to make up for the one that got away this afternoon.

He sniff the air and stalks the woods for decent prey.

* * *

He woke up here in his dream yesterday, too. He steps forward and is about to explore the forest again, but... why is this the dream?

He caught the deer yesterday, and doesn't feel hungry now. He's in the preserve again. He started from this same spot in the first dream. 

Okay, fine. Yesterday he want to the right. Today, he'll go forward. And if this happens again tomorrow, he'll go left.

He trots away, wondering somewhat what is going on, and knowing that there's nothing he can do about it right now.

* * *

Derek told his mom about the dream after it happened again for a third night in a row.

Her face lit, hope shining in her expression for the first time in years.

"Keep me updated, Derek," was all she said, and refused the answer any other questions. "This part is for you. I'll tell you what I know when the time is right."

It didn't escape his notice that she glanced at his necklace a few times. Derek doesn't remember when he got it, or how. Nobody seems to. But Talia knows something and she's not giving up any secrets.

Trying to pry secrets out of an alpha like her? Impossible.

The only thing they knew for sure what that they didn't age here. Time seemed to pass, and there were seasons, and weather, and there was always some plant growing or some creature crawling around they could hunt. The Hale family never aged. The werewolves didn't, the humans didn't, and though they matured intellectually, they were each still the same person they were a few years ago when they arrived. 

It kinda messes his mind to think about it too much, and he goes about his business, preoccupying himself with fantasties about what kind of secrets she might might hold, especially now that his necklace is involved. He favors the plots he creates that would lead them home.

That day, she'd lead a three-wolf team out for hours to hunt the biggest game they could find. They'd returned with a couple rabbits and an odd-looking pig who looks like it had been wandering the woods for at least a few months. It was far from home, and it made for the centerpiece in an exquisite feast the pack held together.

Something was lighter in the camp now. Something Derek found he liked, but didn't quite trust. Not just yet. He had questions and no answers, and his mother had answers, but seemed to need him to ask the right questions.

He climbed in his bedroll that evening and slept with a belly full of flavors he hadn't tasted since home, and enjoyed one quiet little burp before falling asleep again.

A moment later, he was the wolf, and charging through the woods with sharper eyesight than even his normal beta shift. He was hunting the tiniest prey he could find. He didn't intend to kill, it was for the skill of the hunt.

In a rash display of excitement, chases an opossum up a tree and growls playfully at her while she gapes at him, a mouth full of sharp teeth from a mother protecting her joeys. When the tiny ears of the fluffballs clinging to their mother peek out to look at him several feet below, their tiny yellow eyes reflect the moonlight through the trees.

He hears a racoon in the distance. With a self-assured snort at the opossum family, he leaps over the bushes—impressing clearly upon the marsupials in the branches that he could have gotten to them at any time—and is barking madly to incite the flight instincts of the next animal up on the wolfish fear tour.

He's not hungry here. Not for food, anyway. But for the chase? Yes, the wolf practically demands it after being hemmed-in so long in the same familiar territory that hasn't ever really been home.

And here, now, Derek gives his wolfish side plenty of freedom to express itself however it wants.

* * *

Derek awakes in the dream again, standing on all fours. He looks around, then flops down to his left side, and stretches out his joints. He spreads his paws until the feels the lighest bit of the breeze between his toes. He frumps his tail at the grass a couple times, then thwuomps it harder, as hard as he can.

He laughs a canine laugh, and lets his tongue loll and tastes the grass as he feels it gently pad him from the earth.

This is home. It's perfect here: It's quiet, and it's his. He's sensing it more deeply and broadly now, too. He could always scent and see and hear better than any human, and he was pretty good in comparison to his pack, but this? There's a whole new layer of awareness to explore and bask in.

So he brings his focus to the feel of the grass beneath his fur. He feels how the ground here has a slight roll to it, and that his forepaw is resting against a small stone. His tail sits in the damped-down grass where he'd beaten it excitedly a minute before.

He goes through meditation exercises he learned as a pre-shifter. There's a different set for each sense, and after a few more minutes focusing on centering in his wolfish body, he closes his eyes and listens.

There is every sound here. Things that are near, like tiny insects moving along the branch of the bush several feet away, making their mating calls and chewing on leaves. He listens to the whisper of wind across the feathers of a bird flying above. He hears the padded feet of a bobcat stalking through the underbrush. Far above and to the right of him is the sound of jet engines pushing a plane full of people to their destination hundreds of miles away.

He adjusts himself to sitting and focuses on the new sensations he's been noticing lately. They're subtle, and they're not like the rest of his senses. He listens, in a way, focusing his attention to the way there is a sort of brightness to things as he thinks about them. The forest is bright with this sense, whatever it is. He realizes he has his eyes closed, having barely noticed since he could see plenty well with this new sense he's exploring.

The best surprise of the evening is noticing that when he opens his eyes physically, the other sense is still there. Now, though, he understands more of what he sees.

As he focuses on the things he hears or sees, he finds the source of that sensation highlighted in his new vision. For lack of a better word, it's just like seeing, and so he sees what he thinks people always meant when they said they could see auras, or the magical lines of the earth.

He blinks and can see through the grass, too. If he focuses for a moment longer, he can see deeper; he can see under the ground. The beetles and worms and rocks are there, all cozy with each other inside the layers of soil. Deeper beyond are subtle lines, glowing with a prism of colors at their various junctions. The largest of them looks huge, and diffuse. Several things connect to it, like the trees, and the shape of the land. It goes from behind him on the left to forward and to the right.

He looks out, trying to focus as far forward as he can. He turns in a circle, trying to see how far he can get.

There's a point at which there's nothing at all. With a tilt of his head, he pulls his vision back and sees again. He looks again at the blank spot, and scans past it. Yes, it's there, and it's got a defined shape.

And it doesn't _belong_ there. The forest is clear and clean. As far as Derek's explorations have taken him today, the only thing that stands-out in the forest is the wrongness of the void.

Someone is doing something here and they shouldn't be. He also can't hear it; when he focuses on it, there's a sort of distracting buzz in the air.

No. This isn't right. He moves into a full, hard and fast run, crashing through the forest and toward the thing that does not belong.

* * *

Derek wakes suddenly and brings his hands to his face. In his dream, he'd cracked his muzzle against something hard and invisible. He feels a tingling fade. Yeah, and there was a shock, too. In the moment after he felt his head crack hard against the barrier, before the rest of him smacked into the barrier, he'd slammed fully awake and panting.

The barrier is around the Hale house. He growls angrily, "Someone is messing around with our house." His territorial side is overriding his logic. He swings his feet to the floor. "I have to stop it."

He pulls his jeans on and climbs out of his hovel toward the center of the village. He grabs the cup from the peg and draws some water up. He drinks it and looks at the tiny, hand-built hovels around him. They've made this place theirs, but they shouldn't even be here. This isn't home. It was never home. And this was supposed to be temporary, but it's been _years_ without any sign that things are changing.

They should be back home, defending their old property. It's their job to protect the Hale lands. The adults have shared stories of supernatural encounters for years, and many of them ended badly for the supernaturals who challenged a wolf and her family. 

He pours the last drops from the cup onto his hand before replacing it on its peg. He rubs his hands together and rubs them both on his face, willing the last cobwebs of sleep to disappear.

He needs a run. He shifts into beta form and ends-up on all fours as—all fours?

And then the gigantic wolf stumbles on the ground with jeans ripping from the frantic kicking of its hind legs.

Derek will swear for the rest of his life that there was not, at any time, any yips, yelps, or yowls when he faceplants and splays on the ground in the center of their little family 'burb.

"Are you okay? Maybe you should put pants on if you want to go outside and play today."

Oh, for fuck's sake. Of course Laura woke up. And from the sound of it, Cora's moving to the doorway, too.

"I didn't know it was a double full moon today, Laura. Did you?" They giggle. "We big kids usually wear our big kids pants when we're out and about, Derek. They're all getting kind old at this point, but they're still better than waving your tail around."

Derek has a flash of panic before realizing that he does not, in fact, have a tail in this form. 

"Shut up, both of you. I hate you."

"No you don't," Laura mumbled through a yawn. "I am the only person who can cook bacon just how you like it, so you're stuck with me. I am the Bacon Queen!"

From across the way at another home a voice mutters. "Did you wake us up for bacon? There better be bacon. I do not want to be up for anything but bacon."

Derek finally gets his pants on and is on his feet.

"There's no bacon. Laura is a liar and Cora is her accomplice."

"Fine. No bacon for you next time we catch a wild pig."

"Feral pig," Cora helpfully correct.

"It was a pig in the woods. It wasn't pink, and it didn't have that stupid little curly tail. That makes it a wild pig."

The other hovel just can't resist commenting, too: "It's a feral pig, but maybe Derek can go find us a wild pig. I want to try wild pig ham. Can you catch us a wild pig while you're on your rounds, Derek? I really want more ham."

Derek glares at everyone who is or who might be poking their oh-so-funny little noses out of their homes. He flashes his eyes at his sisters.

"We're telling the Alpha."

"Shut your cake hole." Derek runs out of sight, keeping to his human form until he's walked away.

"Oh, man, now I want cake _and_ bacon! Damn."


	3. Not that Familiar

Every good magician needs a familiar. Or is he a spark? One of his books calls magic workers sparks, and most of the rest reference having a spark in them. It's not clear. Maybe he's both? Stiles finds himself at the end of a very complicated verbal joust with himself over the various inflections of spark and mage and wizard as covered in his textbooks, then suddenly drops it all and turns to the house.

He needs his familiar. It's hard keeping focus, and he figures that if he does a really good job describing the familiar he needs, he'll get one who can help him keep track of things. And who is low-maintenance, and doesn't eat a lot, because Stiles is kinda broken and busy and ... well, anyway. There's work to do.

When he builds the impression of his familiar in his mind, he puts in details of character, like, "who will help me focused", and, "who will help me use my powers for good," and, "who can help him bear the responsibility of these great powers," which causes a stupid, enjoyable little chuckle from him for a moment before he comes back to it.

The real root of his problem is that he doesn't think he can. It's not that he's not worthy of a familiar, but it's kinda like the idea about cooking: Everyone can cook something, but not everyone can cook things well. So he is good at certain kinds of magic, and not others. And so he'll probably end-up with a rabid mongoose familiar who will somehow become the best sidekick every and help keep him from going evil.

He sighs. This isn't going to plan.

He tries again to hold images in his mind, but keeps finding himself facing a wavy blackness. It's huge and strong. It moves like waves, undulating black-on-black in a cool rhythm.

He imagines the smell of this familiar, this large black _thing_ that is resisting being identified, for some reason. He tries not to be too annoyed about it and engages all his senses to help the spell take form.

He smells the oceans and the mountains. But not just one, all of them. His familiar is deeply connected to the earth, it seems. Well, that's helpful.

There's something woody and strong, like the scents of pine and grass might be. There's a hint of apples, and - wait, marshmallows? Sweet. Marshmallows are awesome. And root beer? YES! 

Wait. How many animals know of marshmallows and root beer? Could it be a cat? A really, rather unfortunately large cat? It will eat his wallet dry every day, just when it wakes. Oh, god, of course his familiar is a dramatically large cat that's so huge he can't—Oh, wait... Fenrisúlfr was a gigantic dog. So like, he can have a gigantic cat, right? Yes! He should name the cat Fenrir, just for the irony. Cats love irony.

Stiles hears a growl and tries to ignore his stomach. He doesn't feel hungry, but he forgets to eat often enough that he probably is hungry. But he mustn't be distracted, for this isn't the time for snacks no matter how delicious these scents may be. Mmmmmmmmarshmallowsssss.

It doesn't take long for Stiles to realize that the fantasy of a gigantic cat is absurd. He focuses more on the personality traits of his familiar.

They should be independent.

They should be interested in practicing fighting, since it seems the more his power grows, the more he's going to be challenged by annoying little upstarts trying to usurp his place in the magical oligarchy. And he's having none of that.

He wants his familiar to be fully self-possessed. They should have a mind of their own, express themselves how they want to, and generally, do what they want to unless he needs them.

He sees the black again, and hears the grumble for what it is: A gigantic growl.

Damn. He's got himself a Fenrir-sized cat. That's not something he can just leave at the house; it's going to be much bigger than his house. 

Wait, where do giant cats live? How can he have a gigantic cat to take care of. Wouldn't people have noticed already? Wouldn't we have satellite images of cat families and enormous feline depravity as they wail at each other across mountain ranges in heat?

Wait. No. The— What?

He's losing focus, and getting impatient with his brain. This doesn't help his magic, so he adds an emotional impression of love, safety, and welcome to the spell before releasing the final parts of it so it can go do whatever it needs to, wherever in the world it needs to.

He really hopes the familiar will find its way to him soon, and not get trapped by some excitable National Guard troops trying to pull a Gulliver-meets-the-Little-People routine. If he has to bail his familiar out of a military institution, this is just _not_ going to work...

As the last of the spell leaves him, he hears the whisper of far-distant screams, and dots of red and yellow disappearing into the wavy blackness.

He feels a little tension at that. It sounded almost like his nightmares, which leaves possibilities that would be very incredibly disturbing if he thought about them at all, so he resolutely doesn't do that.

He walks the rest of the way up the leaf-blanketed driveway and glances around.

He's here now, at the once-home of the Hale family. It's a filthy mess now, with years of weather beating on it after the fire had done its worst.

* * *

He's been pacing the property for a few minutes, circling each direction a few times to get a sense of the house. There are new things to see on each trip, and plenty of things he doesn't want to spent much time thinking about.

He feels for the magic of the place. This family had some magic workers, for sure. And powerful ones, too, it seems.

He sniffs the air, puts his fingers against the textures of plants and rocks and dirt. The air is soft here, barely moving the trees, but it's not still. He thinks it's always moving just a little, even when the rest of the air is quite still. The ley line running beneath the house is still slowly retreating from the magic of the house. The Hales had been here for generations, and their presence reinforced the connection with the Earth.

He catches himself avoiding looking at the house itself when he realizes he was giving way too much attention to a particular pebble and trying to ask it about its history and what it knows of the Hales. Rocks take a long time to answer, and if you ask for anything more than a yes or no, it'll eat your entire day trying to get a coherent answer of them.

It's time to jump in. Right now, Stiles. No more delays.

Yup, just look at it. It's a house, its empty. You don't have to think about what happened, you just have to fix it.

That is a thing he can do. He looks.

He shakes his head again. He's never going to finish if he doesn't start. So he focuses his mind, stills his body, and digs within himself and the earth for the connection to the energies flowing here. He tunes air, focusing on the way that it works to invisibly hold the clouds in the sky, and causes waves in grassy fields. It's the element of butterflies and airplanes. He takes all of this in and constructs a tube, funneling and concentrating the energy for several seconds before opening his eyes and taking aim at the leaves on the lawn, and the loose bits of everything hanging from the house.

A thunderous shove of air sends a shockwave over the land in the direction he aimed. The leaves have certainly cleared the section of driveway, and the grass, and needles and leaves were stripped from branches of the trees several feet away. They are probably in next Tuesday, at this point. He stops himself before pulling a Little Piggy on the house and blows it down.

Then he realizes he needs to take it down for the next step anyway. 

So it creates a more powerful boom that turns the wood and bricks of the original house to dust that he promptly begins to choke on. God, that's gross and wrong.

Then he notices the echo of the thunder reflecting back to him from the hills. Oh shit. Oh, shit, shit. Shit. His dad's going to get calls about this and they had _just_ been talking about explosives. Craaap.

Stiles drops the energies he'd been holding and begins working the circle within a circle. He holds the mental image as a sort of loom on which to weave magical protections into the land.

On the loom he hangs barriers against sound and scent, so that whatever he does can't be heard by anyone who might come near.

He threads an invisible rock wall to keep the large predators out, one that smells of skunk to any who stray too near. He is maybe very tasty to the large forest monsters and he doesn't want them to know that he's hanging out here.

That reminds him: Humans are a huge thread. Even bigger than rabid honey badgers. He weaves an obscuring spell so that planes and satellites see only the unending blanket of trees in this part of the Preserve.

He thinks a moment longer, considering what else there should be. There might be people who come to this house, like kids intent on checking it out and telling outrageous versions of the real story, or looking for gruesome relics of the past.

He weaves repeating layers of protection around everything so that any humans who even think about the Hale property become distracted. If they try to come here, they will find themselves heading in some other direction without a second thought, as though the new destination is exactly where they wanted to go. He doesn't know if hunters come around these parts, and he doesn't want to get mistaken for a human-shaped moose, so he puts in fortifications against projectiles, curious hikers who may stray off the path, and well-meaning Sheriffs who might want to come look at the property directly.

Of every threat out there, pops is the one he dreads the most. Especially after that teensy little sound explosion he just set off. Ugh.

When he's satisfied the spell has taken shape, he sets a rejuvenating link to the whole structure. It draws slowly on the ley lines, reinforcing each element of the complicated layers over time to help provide strength and reliability. 

He's satisfied with his work, and takes a snack out of his bag to deal with the ravenous hunger.

He looks at the work he's done. It's a kaleidoscope of pastels and deep colors holding the structure, and little staticky bits along the illusions. Those are the source of the "Wall of No Nopes" he created, and the scent of skunk that will absolutely drive every large animal bananas if they come near.

Stiles worries for a moment that he might have stuck himself stuck in here, or be locked outside and unable to return. So he approaches the edge of the barrier where it crosses the driveway. He reaches forward and passes through, sensing the colorful magics and remaining unaffected by them. With a single step, he crosses the barrier and finds himself standing in front of bushes that weren't there a moment ago. The driveway fades under new growth, covering this end of it in a perfectly abandoned natural mishmash.

He knows the house is there, and with his magical senses he can see it through the illusion, but he's surprised at how thorough the illusion is.

Magic is, most of the time, a means of getting people to believe or perceive something that isn't real. In this case, the plants don't smell, but they appear as real as everything else nearby, and the driveway just fades into the ground, looking long-ago abandoned and leading nowhere.

Now that he's set his workroom, he needs to get back inside it and start building the new house itself.

In a way, this is like a final project for him. If he can resolve the problem of the nightmares, and do something to honor the Hale family, and work all this complicated magic, then he's accomplished just about everything there is to start professionally plying his trade just like good ol' Harry Dresden.


	4. Yup, He's Stuck

As he races through the trees faster than any mundane human, even the best athletes, Derek is occupied with worried thoughts about the unpredictable shift. He only half realizes he's gone to the same isolated little clearing at an outcrop of rock that he likes to be in when he's feeling like being around everyone is a little too much.

He wishes he had a book here.

Derek comes to the clearing in human form. He feels the wolfish aspects wanting to come out, to smell the air as a beta-shifted wolf can do, and he finds himself stopping. He palms the little skull necklace in a nervous gesture and paces in a circle. His breathing is still heavy, and he wants his body calm before he tries shifting again.

If he gets stuck in wolf form, there will be a lot of explaining to do and he won't be able to answer. Maybe his mom can give an Alpha shout and trigger a transformation. He's not sure it works like that, but he keeps it in mind as a backup plan.

He actually loves the wolf form. In the weeks he's been transforming in his dreams, he's found it suits him. 

Derek most definitely doesn't want to give his sisters any fodder for giving him a hard time.

As his breathing comes back to normal, he feels less anxious. He takes his hand off his necklace and looks-out over the landscape, feeling the worry that's persisted for the last few days.

And he laughs a ridiculous, obnoxious laugh.

These are the fears of a pre-teen. Derek's been shifting for ages, and he realizes that probably the only thing keeping him back is the reluctance to give-in to the unexpected possibility of a real-life full-shift into a wolf.

_A super mega wolf_ , he thinks out of nowhere, and brushes it off with the rest of the stress of the morning.

Derek shifts to beta, then tries to shift to full-wolf again. It doesn't work. He tries again, and a third and a fourth time. He tries to shift directly from human to wolf and feels he's almost got it, but the change doesn't come.

He's blocked. Something is blocking him? It doesn't even make sense that he could only shift in his dream; he's almost certain he's really there each time he goes on these adventures. How can he have the power of a full shift and not be able to do it unless he's gone unconscious?

What kind of screwy super power is that. 

What he meant to say was "supernatural" power.

He stands again, rising from a hands-and-knees pose to try to approximate the wolf in a frustrated last-ditch attempt to encourage the change. It doesn't work, and he feels as foolish as he used to when he was practicing the first time.

It worked before, and it should work again. Fine. Maybe he's just not trying hard enough.

He tries again, putting every ounce of intention into the tingling at the edge of his senses that feels somehow like the right direction to focus, but it's still like pushing at a balloon: It's not rigid, but it's definitely solid.

Derek can tell he's still got the lingering benefit of the last of the supernatural senses are blurry when he tries to work around the block, whatever it is. All of it—everything from the dream—is just _right there_ , almost within reach.

The frustration drags a growl out of him and he rolls his head on his neck a few times, shaking his shoulders and arms out, trying to let the tension go that his failed practicing has left him with. Fine, enough with trying hard. Just...

Relax. Just relax, and let the shift take him into the new form. Let the supernatural othersenses be real for him again. Let the—

He is pulled from the meditation by the frantic beat of his heart. His eyes fly open and he puts his hand to his chest. But it's higher than his heart, and he puts his hand on the necklace.

The tiny skull on the necklace is vibrating.

What. the. crap?!

He grips the necklace and rips it off him, throwing it to the ground and jumping back several feet. 

Before it hits the ground, it's a full-size skull and it lands face-down in the grass. He doesn't have to step closer to catch the small triskelion inside it.

The Hale family symbol. The symbol of the powers of the wolf. It's the sun, the moon, and the truth.

The necklace was never a miniature skull. Derek has been wearing a shrunken skull for years. And at full size, it has feathers, and red-tipped teeth.

And there, inside the crown, at the point between his eyes in full wolf form, is the triskelion.

This is the family symbol of the Hales. At the tiny size it had been, it would have been impossible to recognize without a microscope.

Derek still can't remember how he got this necklace. He had it when they got here, at their new home in the woods, inside the impenetrable barrier that kept the Hales isolated from everything else.

He steps closer and squats on his heels. This has been with him for years. At the moment he gave-up trying to fight for the shift, the skull revealed itself.

_It is time._

Derek agrees with the sentiment.

He traces the carving inside with his eyes, then runs a finger along the faint, enameled etching. It's beautiful, and when he touches it, he feels connected to a much greater expansion of perceptions and sensations than are available even to his beta-shifted self.

This skull is a marker. It is the way home. It smells of the Preserve, of the flowers around Hale house, and like the love of family and spirit.

He picks the mask up and regards it face-on. The feathers are beautiful. There is another triskelion beneath each eye. The eyes seem to glow reddish, not like the alpha, but like volcanoes and chili peppers and somehow it smells just like a warm, red hoodie.

He puts the mask up to his face to sniff it. It smells like home, and a blend of magical and supernatural werewolf powers. He turns it over and sniffs it, just before it snaps soundlessly against his face.

* * *

He's disoriented for a moment. He thought for a moment that he was crouched, but he's already standing. He's in full wolf form, overlarge again, and super-enhanced, again.

He freezes for a mere second while he realizes that he can never take the mask off in his dreams. He wants to, and tries all the tricks he tried since he first realized he was wearing a mask in the dreams. Those same techniques fail here.

He grumbles. There's nothing to say; he can't talk.

Derek opens his huge mouth in a wolfy grin. He feels the pull of atmosphere as he breathes, in and out, rustling bushes a few feet away. Being huge is actually pretty fun.

He jumps, runs and leaps off the tall old growth trees and bounding his way between them. He taps across a boulder, leaps through spins like a football and balances on all fours. His senses are better, he's larger and stronger, and it feels like he's exactly as it always ought to be. It's invigorating!

Or he thought he thought it was. He misjudged the landing as he vaulted over some shrubs and slips on the forest floor and crashes into another boulder. He lets out an annoyed growl, recognizing immediately he's neither injured nor in-pain.

When he's climbed out of the bush and shakes himself free of debris, he thinks about the pack. He's got to go home sometime.

For now, he'll just get used to his super-super senses and rediscover his favorite place in their little territory.

* * *

He's been hiding in the woods since he disappeared this morning. If he doesn't return before dinner, they're going to come looking for him.

He huffs a huge, irritated breath of air. The bushes shed a few leaves.

Oh, that's kinda nice.

He huffs again, muzzle pointed at a pile of leaves at the edge of the clearing, and a cloud of leaves and dust erupts and engulfs him.

He shakes it off and begins making his way back to the family.

Thing one on his list of worries: If his sisters find-out he's stuck, they're going to use this against him for the rest of his life. And being stuck as a teenager for the rest of his life seems like a really crappy way to go. They don't physically age here, but the world seems to go on anyway, and once you earn a joke about something, it sticks with you. We have literally nothing better to do.

Thing two: He can already picture how his father and uncle Peter are going to act when _they_ find out about this whole thing. The look will go something like, "You used to be the good kid."

Thing three: Being a wolf is awesome, except for the complete lack of talking, lack of ability to change forms, giganticness that far exceeds the size of his bed, which means he has to sleep outside, and that's just not going to work.

No. Hell no.

And what's with "giganticness"? That's not how he speaks. This mask is making a mess of him.

Thing one on the list of things in his favor: Nobody undesireable has crossed the barrier in years, so this is a truly extraordinary event that might cause everyone to pause without attacking him first.

Thing two on this list: He's got the triskelion on both sides of the muzzle. If he plays things right, he might be able to get the mask off.

He's adding a thing four to the list of worries: He doesn't know if he'll be naked when he changes back, because there weren't any clothes in the clearing, and he's not wearing any as a wolf.

Thing five on this list of worries: He's no good at playing it cool. He just knows it. His mom has the talent, and Laura has it. His dad doesn't, and both Derek and Cora take after him.

Derek is a huge wolf, wearing a fairly attractive mask that has the family symbol on it. They'll recognize immediately that this is their symbol.

Just the same, he decides not to appear unannounced. On his approach to the camp, braces himself and makes a welcoming howl.

It comes out more like a threatening bellow, and several challenging howls return to him through the trees. 

Ahh, right: His voice is different in this form. In all this time, he hadn't tried howling. So it works it for a moment, making sure he's going to be saying what he intends to say.

He howls again, making the welcome softer. It's not a shout this time, it's just a loud hello. This time, the pack Alpha howls back and he interprets the tone as, enter, and proceed with caution.

Derek trots back to the camp. He's immediately aware of the absolute silence in the clearing.

Coming in brazen and stupid is likely to get everyone's hackles up (and Talia's up literally, since she's been the only full-shift wolf in the pack).

Coming in too cautious will definitely get his sisters going after him.

He's got to be cool, direct, and intentional. Nobody can know he's stuck. Play it cool, Derek. Nobody has to know something is wrong, and different isn't wrong, it's just different.

His heartbeat might not give him away only because the pack doesn't know what to expect from such a gigantic wolf. That is a third thing for his list of things in his favor.

He was gigantic, both a little larger than a typical forest wolf, and bigger than his mother had ever seen him. The usual protcol when greeting the Alpha is to stay on all fours until given permission to sit. Since she is his mother, and he doesn't really care for all the formalities (and because it might be slightly less intimidating to everyone if took the passive role and sat), he decides to play it on the casual side of formal.

Derek dropped his hindquarters and sat on his powerful legs. He looked her in the eyes from behind the skull mask.

What Talia and everyone else saw was bright, waxy red eyes that seemed to flow on their own. They can't see Derek's eyes through the mask. She watches the thick pools of light, notices the feathers decorating the ears of the mask. She notices the beads in the wolf's hair and the way everything together reminds her of old family legends that told werewolf versions of stories about Fenrir.

She nearly catches herself about to call him Fenrir, but corrects just in time.

"Derek?" 

Derek dipped his head in a huge and gentle nod. He wanted to show respect and submission. His new form startled everyone, and especially her. But there was something else, too. And a big smile crossed her face.

Talia stepped forward and put her hand out to touch his head. 

Derek's signal of a beta submission to an alpha, and also recognized the invitation. She set her hand out and relaxed on the skull, setting the thumb of her left hand over the triskelion carved on one side, and with her four other fingers setting over the matching shapes on the other half of the skull. She gasped.

When his mother reaches-out to touch his mask, she hears his thoughts.

_Please, play it cool, mom! Don't let anyone know that I'm stuck like this._

Talia takes her hand off. "You're—"

What? Oh, god, that's going to make things so much easier. Derek pushes against her palm again.

_I'm stuck. Please do NOT give anyone a sign that anything is wrong. The_ last _thing I want is stupid jokes about being the stupid pack dog, or crap about being a hound chasing foxes, or—_

Talia laughs aloud. She places both hands on his face, silencing his racing thoughts. "Congratulations on achieving the full shift, Derek. I approve of the look!" Then she whispers, "I knew you had it in you." 

Derek's jaw drops open and everyone mistakes it for a wolfish grin. Everyone is clapping for him while the wolves in the pack tell the humans what they weren't able to overhear. Derek looks at his mom and nuzzles her with his head. He owes her a lot of favors after this, and he finally feels like he's got time to breathe before he has to deal with the rest of the problem.

Like being stuck.

Talia steps beside him and puts her hand on his head. She speaks words to the group about the tradition of full-shift wolves. She tells them of the ancestors who could full-shift, and how it is regarded as a powerful, beautiful gift upon any wolf who is able to do it. She turns to Derek and gives a brief summary of his life to-date, including a couple motherly embarassing details and emphasizing the best parts.

_And please, if one of your secrets is that you know how to switch me back, please help me do that._

She looks at him. "Walk with me, Derek. Everyone, we'll be out for a walk together."

Derek side-glances at her.

"Hey, your father snuck a dog joke in when I first did a full-shift, so let me have a little fun."

And it was fun, in that sort of way people can have of pressing just the right button to annoy, and not irritate.

* * *

"Okay, we're out of earshot. Let's get down to business." She sits on a log and motions for him to park himself pretty much wherever he wants to.

He sits next to her, and puts his head in her lap.

"Your head is way too freaking heavy for that."

He grumbles a little and sits upright, hold his head up in a position he hopes is comfortable for her to talk in.

_When I woke from me dream this morning, I went to shift to beta form to do my patrol, and I ended-up a full quadruped and stumbled. I hadn't been a full wolf in reality before._

"Was that about the same time as the bacon conversation?"

He grumbles aloud, rolling his eyes. She can't see his eyes, but she gets the idea from the motion of his head.

"Ahh, got it. What happened next?"

Derek tells her about the attempts to shift, the silly worries about getting stuck, and the way the mask transformed after he gave up being worried and accepted the situation.

After a minute of deliberation, she probes him for his thoughts—as best he could remember them—and then she makes a suggestion.

"Are you aware that Alphas can cause themselves and a wolf they are linked with to experience a sort of dream state?" Derek shakes his head. "Ahh, okay, let me fill you in on some details. Then we can give it a try."

* * *

Inside the Alpha-induced dreamstate, they have walked to the boundary. It looms large and invisible.

"Stiles is not a mage I would want to fight. What he's done for you, and for our pack, is... it's just amazing."

The boundary looms before him. It is large, and it doesn't have an edge so much as it has a sort of slowly-flowing. It's invisible to even his supernatural wolfish senses, but the mask shows him the truth of things. He looks at Talia, who seems confused. She puts her hand on his head and she seems able to focus again.

While in contact, she can perceive as Derek can perceive. She sees the barrier.

_Do not break contact as we cross the barrier._ He doesn't know how it could affect them in the dream, but he has realized he gets a sense of the rules of magic while in this state, and so he shares what he discovers with her, as soon as he perceives it.

At the crossing of the outer edge of the barrier, Derek sees a collapsing husk of a large family home. It's sunny here, with shafts of it streaming through broken windows and tapping brightly at the darkness within the grave structure. Derek notices that the barrier is several steps larger on the inside than it is on the outside. On the outside, it seemed less than a full step wide.

They step together again. Years have passed since the fire, and parts of the house are settling or crumbling. It's cloudy, and the gloom and decay are apparent.

Another step in, and the house is suddenly gone, and the yard is clean. It's dawn. The foundation of the house looks like it was poured fresh, with a full basement layout and the general floor structure laid-out across the top. Derek admires the way the foundation looks sturdy and better than the old one. The house was built ages before insulation, adequte earthquake regulations, and it never had the safety and insulation features of newer homes. He moves to step forward again.

Talia is a half-step behind him, looking at something. Derek sends her a thought to get her attention, then they step forward together.

She gasps and steps against him for a moment, then she recovers and is her usual calm Alpha self.

There are walls are up on the first floor, and the structure for the second floor is going up. The shape of the house is a little larger than before. Trees are trimmed, and some bushes are moved. The sunlight suits the property well with the altered landscaping. The house is coming together, and it looks inviting.

Derek notices the ocean cocktail scent. It's more like the scent of someone passing through the room, and he still can't see anyone. He sends another mental nudge to his mother and they step forward again.

The house has windows now, and large double-door at the entrance, which is now covered by a wrap-around porch. 

"I always wanted a wrap-around porch." She'd ever expressed to him that she had a preference either way. He's silently thankful that she might get her wish.

They take a step and stop halfway, watching as the house changes color patterns several times. Some of them are pretty good. The lime green with purple highlights and a gigantic question mark over the doors was _not_ good. They both made disgusted sounds. The clash of their noises caused them to chuckle.

"Somebody is having a good time using their powers, I think."

_Whoever is doing this is a child. Everything looks like comic books._

"Well, he's only a few years younger than you, Derek."

_He?_

"From what he told me, this is when you meet him. For the first time. Or the second time, depending how you count it.

Derek finds that both revealing and confusing. He's been getting ideas and words that aren't his usual speech and as he thinks about a few of them, it does sound like someone who is a comics fan. Comics were going digital when Derek was in high school, and Derek had only ever read the paperback ones. 

_Is this were I get to learn all these secrets you've been keeping?_

"I'm going to let Stiles handle that part of things." Derek catchers her annoyed glance away from the house. "Sorry, but I meant to let him introduce himself."

_Don't worry about it. Today is a little disorienting for us both._

"This is the second most disorienting thing to happen in my life, Derek. Your use of _little_ is too much of an understatement."

When they reach the other side of the barrier, the outside of the house is step the house is now brown for the first floor, a lighter and warmer brown for the second floor, and the third floor windows are bordered by slate-grey shingles. It's dark outside, and possibly a New Moon, so all Derek sees is the light in the kitchen.

Derek sniffs the air. The electric ocean scent is back, and the cinnamon and lime and red hoodies is coming from inside. The person these scents belong to is here. Derek is very confused that he knows exactly what "red hoodie" smells like.

Derek finds that he hopes Stiles is a pretty cool person. If he isn't, he's not sure what they're going to do. He's the most powerful non-alpha werewolf he's ever heard of, and Stiles is definitely the most powerful being he's ever even known. Derek can't fight him, and doesn't really want to. Stiles smells good. This home smells extra good because he's here.

Talia notices Derek sniff the air and open his mouth to get more of the scent. To herself, she thinks, _You're going to like him a lot, Derek._

_I can hear you thinking._

Talia jumps back, not expecting him to have responded. She races to put her hand back on and realizes belatedly that they're through the barrier.

Derek's wolfish eyebrows are trying not to judge her, but the amusement in seeing his powerful mother scrambling like a cat is a pretty delightful image.

"I heard that thought, and if you know what's good for you, you'll shut your damned mouth, Derek."

_Yes, Alpha,_ he snapped, as expected.

Shit.


	5. Let's Keep This Between Ourselves

Stiles is nearly finished with the house. He is surprised at how much he got done without his familiar helping him.

Which, by the way, he's still mad at the universe for taking so long to deliver to him. He's worked his butt off and he deserves a familiar. He just knows he does.

He's been working on this house for weeks, maybe enough to qualify as months now. He's not sure which sounds bigger, so he'll just say weeks.

He's spent time looking at architecture and how-to and home fix-it books and videos online, and poured everything he learned into how to have a house that will withstand the test of time, and be suitable for the Hales when he figures out how to bring them back. He tries some sketches, but loses focus too frequently and just goes to the property in the Preserve to check it out.

He holds the picture of the house up and compares it to the fire-darkened hulk that's left. There's a lot to do, and he's going to raze the building anyway, so he gets started.

As he's working on the house, he starts noticing that the barrier is growing wider on the inside. It's also starting to show flashes of what he'd been doing in the past in thin layers as he crossed the barrier. It prompted a quick review of his progress a few times back-and-forth through the barrier.

Then he experiments. Within the bubble, he finds he can create windows into various times in the past. He doesn't try to go forward into the future; it's Beacon Hills, and there's nothing going to happen here, ever. The Hale fire is the most interesting and suspicious.

Then he studied the barrier to figure out what was inherent in its construction that allowed it to shift like this. Reality was dilated within the barrier itself, and as soon as he realized there were new things to experiment with here, he let the house sit for a couple weeks and practiced working the magic of the barrier to create a bubble elsewhere. He'd gotten decently good at it, too.

After a couple weeks of this, the house seemed to look over at Stiles and give him puppydog eyes. He wanted to play with the time barrier more, but, he confessed, he wants to finish this part of the project, too. After all, it has a clear and definite completiong time. The barrier doesn't and he can play with that later. And the barrier is fun, too. Time is like a substance, but a thought substance. It's weird, and fun.

* * *

Stiles makes the final delicate slice on the tail of the wolf in the carving around the kitchen window. He steps-back to admire his work, and notices two red lights in the distance. The lights are moving.

They move like they're part of something very large, and maybe very bitey.

No good. No good at all. He's not tasty and delicious and whoever that it shouldn't be here. _Gaaarggh!_ (but silently.)

Stiles quietly scrambles for a hiding spot, and momentarily remembers he's got this place wired with magic. He kills the spell and the house lights turn off off. In the dark, he spelled a new wall to appear silently between him and the rest of the kitchen, chopping a full third from the kitchen and glamored to appear as though the wall was exactly where it was.

A huge snout and bone mask poke through the the wall as if it were nothing.

On the outside, Stiles looked cool as a pickle, if a little wide-eyed.

On the inside, he was, "Oh. my god, that's terrifying. No, no, no! I am not delicious! Go away!"

The glowing eyes came through, waxy orbs where the eye sockets were. The little room-within-a-room filled with the red light of the mask, and the almost glow of the bone.

"Huh— HEY!" Stiles shouted.

The creature tilted it's head slightly.

"Where did you get that?"

The creature looks at him again. He's almost certain he's being judged by this thing. It noses closer to him. 

Stiles watches as the bone ridge around the floating eyes looks like the wax is part of the bone, a softer extension. He can't see the eyes of the—he makes a quick glance at the feet and ears—wolfish creacture. Canine features. Possibly wolf or extremely large dog. It looks massive, bigger than any of the wolves he's seen at the wildlife refuge. 

"Fenrir?"

The creature still halfway on the other side of the illusion tilted its head the other way, and lowered itself slightly.

"Oh boy..." He mutters as the Fenrir-like giant sniffs carefully at him.

The wolf sniffs his face, his neck near the ears, and seems to check-out the red hoodie. The red hoodie is particularly interesting.

"Can you even see red?"

The wolf snorts a clearly annoyed snort at him. The blast of air smells of the forest and marshmallows.

"You smell of marshmallows."

The wolf looks at him, curious. He's assessing. 

"I'm just a human."

The wolf barks. It threatens to burst his eardrums and really serves to up the ante a lot on the threat level of dogbreath.

"Okay, fine, I'm a human and I'm a spark. Or wizard. Or warlock. Honestly, I don't keep track because it's not where the juicy stuff is. Do you know the difference between them?"

Another blast of air. He thinks he prefers that to the loudness and largeness of a wolf mouth open inches from his face. At least it doesn't smell so bad. He's (she's? Stiles isn't clear: that part of the anatomy is in the other part of the room) probably got bits of thumper and bambi in his teeth. The mask has red marks on their sharp tips, just like Stiles painted them years ago.

Wait, why is the wolf still near his face? "Why are you still in my business, wolf?"

The wolf stills for a moment. He's as uncertain as the wolf is about what to do about that question. The wolf nudges closer, rubbing it's people-sniffing nose against the pocket in the hoodie. Stiles has forgotten he put a snack packet of gummy bears in there.

"Oh, hungry?" He says this in a plenty friendly manner, but the wolf seems startled by the sudden and unnecessary flurry of motion that comes when Stiles reaches into his pocket. "I've got some Reese's Pieces in here. Do you like those?"

The wolf looks like its considering the question. It shakes its head. Stiles is surprised at the response and at the belated realization that dogs and candy-coated chocolate bits do not mix. "And the chocolate thing is probably bad. I've got some marshmallows in the other part of the kitchen, an—" The wolf's expression was so cute and attentive at the word "marshmallows" that it nearly derailed Stiles' concerns of this engorgioed fur-phantom might want to chomp on him.

"You're a marshmallow fan, too, huh? I get that." Stiles gets up and walks through his illusion before remembering he can take it down. The wolf looks at him like he's a weirdo for worrying about running into the wall. It's a little hard to tell because the mask has no expressions and the eyes are gooey sockets of terror, but Stiles is pretty sure that's what the wolf was thinking.

As soon as the barrier is down, Stiles yelps.

(Derek will chide him frequently on the piercing nature of that very yelp, but he at least taunts him only in private. For now, the wolf just swooshes its tail and tries not to—THWACK!!—Well, it doesn't sound like he broke it...)

"Okay, who is she?!" he says to the wolf, demanding an answer. "And why is she in my house?"

The both scoff at him. Stiles and Talia didn't know a wolf could scoff, but Derek managed it. Kudos to him.

Talia zeroes-in on Stiles.

"Am I the only person in the pack who remembers what happened?" Talia asks him. She's more fed-up about the situation than at Stiles not recognizing her.

"What?"

"First, you're here rebuilding my house after saving my family from the fire. Second, you're hiding in my lovely new kitchen. Good job on that, by the way. It looks like it's out of one of those architecture magazines. And before you start strutting your stuff, kid," she steps up to him. Derek recognizes it's a sham, but he isn't sure Stiles does. Derek moves closer to Stiles. "You also gotta know that we saw that neon green and purple monstrosity you painted this house with, and I'm pretty sure you're a menace."

"I'm a w...where? How did you see the Riddler House?"

"Are messing with me, kid?"

"You rebuilt my pack house and turned it into a bad Batman homage. It was shameful!" Talia tuts. "The Joker's colors would have been better. White with green and purple, or the silvery blue thing with that shiny tie."

Derek and Stiles look at her, both of them mouths open in shock.

"Hi Stiles, I'm Talia." She shoots her hand out. He does a minor version of the earlier help when she does, and shakes it while desperately avoiding eye contact. He spends a moment staring at Derek, wondering how he got in this situation. Derek seems to shrug.

"You're a pretty cool wolf, man." Stiles reaches over to pet him. Derek doesn't realize it until too late.

_N'T TOUCH ME!_

"WHOA. You can talk? Well, sorta, I mean, through the mask? That's kinda cool. Sucks if you gotta yell across the room, though." Stiles steps away from him.

_You're an idiot._

"I am NOT an idiot!"

_Like hell you're not. I'm going to look around. Stay here and try not to embarass yourself in front of my mom._

Derek is a few feet from the exit and he starts stomping his feet. He's got a lot of weight and supernatural strength, and the pounding makes his pounting marginally better. Part of the scratching is unintentional; even werewolves have non-retracting claws in their full-shift form.

But it's just _soooooo_ satisfying to push his paw into the hallway and draaaag his foot back. It takes a light huff from his huge lungs to blow the curls of wood away.

"Where are you going, honey?" Talia calls after him, at the same times Stiles says, "HEY! Don't assume I can undo that, asshole!" Talia laughs and waves Stiles over for a personalized tour of the house. Stiles notes that Derek is taking the self-guided tour.

_You can undo it with a thought, Stiles. It's probably not even that hard to do. I bet I could learn._

"I'll show him who is the idiot. You couldn't do half the things I do!" 

"Stiles! So, we need to talk business. And you can show me my new house while we're at it. And you can tell me how you're going to get us back from wherever you sent us."

"Umm, technically, it's a _whenever_ , since you're still in Beacon Valley, just... a bit before it became quite so, you know, _valley_ , before the tectonic shifts raised everything." He does air quotes and drops his hands. He was hoping just a little bit that nobody would ask him what's been up with the Hales all this time.

"Are you telling me that you rushed my family out of our house in the middle of the night with no notice at all, and sent us into Jurassic Park?"

"Umm... not really? I think it's just the early Cambrian."

"Did you know that doesn't actually improve things? Do you know that you've got Derek and I back in the Jurassic Park right now?"

"Sorry, ma'am, but you're really here right now."

"I'm the Alpha."

"The Alpha what?"

Talia isn't sure if Stiles is joking, or ignorant, or a savant with magic and extremely stupid.

"I'm Talia Hale, Alpha of the Hale pack of werewolves, a mixture of supernatural and human family members who have lived in the Preserve for several generations."

"Yeah, I know. One side has been here like... several hundred years, at least. The other side came over during the rise of World War II. It was interesting because I thought your family was escaping due to the crackdown on Jews."

"While I'm actually very impressed that you know these kinds of things about my family," and she did look impressed, "that's the stuff you and Derek are going to have to talk about later. Let's just say that the Nazis had a special investigations group going after supernaturals. They wanted to figure out if we were real, and if they could copy the powers to make better soldiers."

"There is literally a movie about that very thing."

"Well, since I'm living somewhere in the ancient history of the planet, I can hardly stay caught-up on movies now, can I?" She said it with mirth, but Stiles also recognizes the face of someone who just wants her life back.

"Can I take you on a tour of the house? And is the wolf your Derek?"

"Yes, he's my son."

"Okay. Why isn't he human right now?"

"Oh, that specific question has been on his mind all day. You should talk with him about it."

Stiles is trying to keep track of the growing list of things to ask Derek about.

_I hate being stuck in this form._

"How long has he been stuck in that form?"

Talia looks at him and smirks. "Do you notice that you have been communicating with him in wolf form without being in physical contact?"

"I didn't think about it. You haven't heard him griping this whole time?"

"Nope," she says, with a wide smile and a pop on the P-sound. "I can only hear him when I touch the mask. I'm also going to guess that's the same for everyone else, except for you."

_She better not be trying to hook us up. He's cute and all, but kind of an idiot._

Something must show on his face because Talia laughs. "Let me guess: He doesn't know that you can still hear him."

"Nope!" he says, with pinched lips and a decidedly dodgy glance at everything except Derek's mom. _Hey, Derek! Shut up! I can hear you being a brat, sourwolf,_ he thinks as hard as he can at Derek.

There's a thumping and crash and Derek's running down the staircase, thundering through the hall and he comes into the kitchen looking like an elephantine housecat caught by surprise.

He looks between Stiles and his mother.

_You can hear me?_ Stiles nods. _Can you hear me?_ His mother looks at him.

"No, honey, I can't hear you."

_She thinks she can only if she's touching you._ Stiles is resolutely avoiding everyone's gaze. He's blushing. Derek notices. Something in the air has changed.

Talia walks out the room and begins her own tour. "You two need to clear the air right now." She hums to herself as she walks down the hall, admiring the solid crafstmanship of the woodwork and fixtures.

* * *

They're back in the clearing again. Stiles pulled the mask off him to inspect it and Derek resumed his human shape.

"Wow." _Beefcakey._

_I can still hear you, Stiles._ "And beefcakey isn't a real word."

"I'm going to die of all the embarrassment." Stiles says aloud, wiping his face.

Talia is enjoying herself too much. "I love this! You two are perfect for each other. No wonder this all worked-out." She gives Derek a wicked grin before turning to Stiles. "And I'm not just saying that because you're the first non-family member Derek has interacted with in the last several years."

"Shit, mom. Really?" Derek eyerolls so hard he lets his human head roll from shoulder to shoulder. 

Stiles looks at Derek and Talia, and suddenly turns and goes to a point along the barrier several feet away. He decides to shorted the trip home, saving them the trouble of going through the dreamtime version of the Preseve that they'd been travelling through.

"Derek, don't be rude to the pack Emissary."

"When did you make him the pack Emissary?"

"Technically, future Stiles accepted the request years ago, the night we moved. This Stiles hasn't yet had that conversation, so I extended him the invite.From my perspective, he's already accepted the offer. So, from a certain point of view, I'm just ensuring consistency in the timeline."

"You're both dorks." He looks at Stiles. "How long until we're back home?"

She notices he hasn't stopped looking at Stiles. He looks hopeful, and frustrated, and annoyed. Stiles looks the same. And that's not even dealing with all the scents being left around by each of them.

"Days. He's working out some details with how he's going to restore us to the right moment in time, and fix what went wrong in Beacon Hills the last time we were sent."

"We can't be older when we return."

"He's got that covered. Did you really not notice that we haven't been aging?"

"I— I forgot, actually. Huh." He looks at the backpack she gave him. "What's in the bag?" She holds it out of reach.

"Tools." She says, cryptically. "They are part of what will make things right, and will ensure the Hale legacy is well protected from future hunter interference. Actually, I'll tell you that part of what we'll be doing is burying a sort of captive spell in the ground. It will stay here, slowly becoming part of the land that becomes Beacon Valley. It will slowly, over a very long period of time, become the seed of power in the area. By time time we're all born and live together in the house on the Preserve, "

They wait for Stiles to finish working the magic, and they bump shoulders.

"Soon."


	6. Red Hood to the Rescue!

The hooded man steps through the portal, followed by three more people. Through the portal several darker people are figured. The lights of the wolf eyes glow in proximity to the arch. Inside the house, every non-human is finding their own eyes are activated and can't be quelled.

Stiles rings the yard with bright magelights, and the area is covered with an almost daylike brightness, which is followed by a punishing hiss.

"Oh! Sorry!" He offers in a rush, and dials-back the intensity of the magelight ring to something more comfortable for super-sensitive eyeballs. "I forget that you guys have magic eyes."

_YOU have magic eyes, Stiles._

_Stop, Derek! You'll make me blush in front of everyone._

"Everyone can already hear you, so stop flirting, you idiots." It's his dad, trying to hiss it quietly, but wolves on both sides of the portal behind them heard Stiles, and the dorkish romantic crap they usually keep to themselves. The wolves behind them, through the opening, are giggling.

And then he realizes that they heard Derek, too. Which means Talia heard him being a romantic sap. Good. Fine. Derek can suffer with him. He deserves it.

_I'm not suffering, Stiles._ Talia thwacks Derek on the back of the head.

_You are now!_ The Sheriff thwacks Stiles on the back of the head. Both of them growl. Stiles has gotten more impressive the more he's spent time with the pack.

The wolves gathered on the smallish Hale house porch are the adults, and the older teenagers.

The Talia on the porch, who Stiles will call Talia Prime, reaches over to Derek and pulls him out of the crowd with her. He looks exceedingly reluctant, especially after having overheard the whole silent and verbal exchange. "Everyone else stay here."

Stiles approaches Talia Prime with his Talia and Original-Style Derek behind him. Homestyle Derek looks at his near-twin. Talia Prime and Homestyle Derek take a sniff at the uninvited visitors on their lawn and recognize each of them, except the man in the hoodie and the Sheriff.

"Alpha Hale, I accept your offer to act as Emissary for the Hale pack. To protect and honor the pack in all times, and from all dangers, outside and within. I give of myself to you, and request only that you read this letter before taking any other actions tonight. There are things you must know and we are on a somewhat tight schedule, so if you might please write that. I mean, read that, yes, of course. Please read it and consider giving your final acceptance so I can protect your family for the next several years and bring you back and restore the timeline how it should be."

"Jesus, son!" his father mutters at him. "Take a breath."

Talia is smiling politely. She'd forgotten how disarming Stiles could be when he was stumbling over himself. She catches the eye of her earlier self and pours confidence and encouragement as strongly as she can. She hands her other self the leather-bound volume they'd received that first night, years ago, when Stiles wandered into their lives.

Stiles stares at Talia Prime. Derek looks at his younger self and nudges Stiles.

"Oh! Right!" He reaches-over and takes the necklace from Original-Style Derek and it comes off effortlessly. Derek is mildly surprised at the ease with which Stiles can remove it, since Derek himself could barely take it off without it magically reappearing around his neck, dangling the miniaturized skull front-and-center.

Stiles looks at Homestyle Derek. _Derek, you will need this, and you will use it to lead your pack home._ He reaches to hand it to the younger Derek, who barely shakes his head. 

"I need my Alpha's okay," he says, sounding very much like he doesn't want her to give it. Talia Prime, however, knows this is a crucial component to the pack's half of the return spell. Homestyle Derek looks at his mother. She's apprehensive, but flashes her eyes lightly and nods, giving him silent permission as his mother and his alpha. He holds his hand out.

Stiles begins to sing, and the skull on the necklace glows as Derek fastens it around his neck. The tiny eyes glow red, and the music of the song of the Emissary fills the clearing.

This song is very old. It's made of words of magic, words that carry meaning and image and sensation with each syllable. The Dereks listen, eyes wide and astonished. The sound seems impossible. Stiles isn't a fantastic singer, but these are words of power and they work regardless of the vocal skills of the magician.

The pairs of Derek and Talia hold hands. The Sheriff watches, astonished again at the things his son has taught himself. The hope and tears of a powerful magical working affect everyone, each of them crying for the pain and hope of the magic being worked. Each of them crying as their hearts and minds connected with the spell and everything lurched for a moment.

For half a minute, the Hales of this timeline were gone to the past, and the Hales from the far end of the loop in time cross the boundary together.

"The family is returned!" He says this in English, and begins another verse of the old song.

The pack gathers around the trio at the center. They welcome the Sheriff in the circle. Drawn together as they are, a circle around the triskelion, Stiles feels and sorts the magics he needs. He sings and the lines come into their complicated order and he opens his eyes to see Derek and Talia holding hands with him. The triange representing strength, unity, restoration.

The Hale pack Alpha, Emissary, and Emissary's first are the focus of the new spell. Stiles eases them into sync so their intentions are one. They breath in sync, feel the life energy of each other as brilliant reds and purples. With Stiles leading the way, they step once clockwise, then step once again clockwise, and when their feet settle after a third step, the world lurches again.

Stiles sings louder, watching the shimmer in the air causing the versions of the Hale house to occupy the same space, overlapping and out of phase, until he finishes the verse and the new house stands sturdy and whole.

"The home is restored!"

With the last of the song fast approaching, Derek and Talia step outward to join the ring, and Stiles holds himself in the very center of the pack. He goes from a quiet hum to a soft call, to a louder and more compelling power of lyric and tune and heartbeat rhythm that has the wolves stomping their feet in percussion with the rhythm.

Stiles closes his eyes, though his irises now glow brilliant violet behind the lids. With a slow sweep in a circle, Stiles spins in place and the world seems to shift around them all, bringing them in-sync with the current day and time, safe back home.

As soon as they arrive, hunters walk from the trees with their weapons raised. Stiles banishes the mountain ash boundary around the doors and windows of the house. He freezes the hunters where they are, keeping them stuck in time for the few minutes it takes for the deputies to arrive at the house. The Hales he keeps behind an invisible barrier, seen by nobody, not even his father, for the moment.

The deputies line-up and prepare to capture the hunters. Stiles releases the hold on the hunters just before his father yells at the dark-clad figures attack. In the confusion, the hunters resist far less than expected, and Stiles and Derek watch as Kate Argent and her father are both pulled from the treeline and stuff into separate cars.

None of the deputies thinks to ask the Sheriff where his patrol care is. None find it odd that nobody knocked on the Hale house door to alert the sleeping family to the danger they were just in. Nobody, certainly not the ordinary human deputies, notices that there is a red-hooded figure standing with a family of people whose eyes blaze in red and yellow from behind Stiles and his carefully crafted illusion.

At this moment, on the other side of town, the Sheriff is at the hospital with his son. He's turned his radio off, the chatter and noise disrupting Stiles as he lay motionless on the hospital bed.

At this moment, in a very different time long, long ago, Derek is walking on a path in the woods and following his mother's guidance to a clearing ahead. She stops and consults a journal every several paces, making sure they're going in the right direction, to whatever destination is head. He pats his necklace and feels calmer. He's not entirely certain what he'd just been doing, but it just feels right to be here, right now, and walks along the path quietly.

In the next moment, half-exhausted, but ready to work the final portion of the spell, Stiles takes his dad back to their time, and tells Derek when to come and knock on the Stilinski front doot so they can go out on their first real, non-magical, no hunter shenanigans, absolutely wonderful first date.

Derek smiles, and kisses Stiles on the cheek.

"What, I'm not good enough for a peck on the lips?"

"I'll see you in the morning, Stiles." Well, in the morning several years from now, but yes, it'll be the right time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter occurs for me like it was part of a different story. It wasn't, it grew out of several writing sprints I did in the universe to help build source material for scenes and character interactions. The rest of the story is way more slapstick, more sarcastic, than this key scene. From my POV, it is a psychedelic weirdo scene more than a magical Emissary of badassery that I was going for.
> 
> And those moments between Stiles, the Dereks, and the Talias? I rewrote them several times, each time working out how the mythology and rules of this universe would be impacted. In the end, I think it's internally consistent, even if it doesn't quite touch all the ideas I wanted it to.
> 
> What do you think? What might you have done?


	7. The Slobber means "I Love You"

The skull is bright in the early daylight, even to his wolfish vision. Derek is taking a delicate frond of stiff grass and dabbing it in a pigment paste he made. He dabs the inside of the skull with the final touches of the pictograph of Stiles. The tiny man is dancing and playing with the wolf. Derek taps the lightest line of a smile on the tiny Stiles figure, and feels it mirrored on his own face.

The wolf he painted earlier is, he's proud to say, actually very wolflike. He laughs at the first day when he had done the yoga poses, and wiggled his tail. He lets all the joy of it come through in the miniature scene in the skull.

He painted Stiles the night he'd made the magelight, remembering finally the full memory of both sides of the encounter. When the deputies were gone and Stiles had showed them how to manage the magical barrier while he was away, Derek had gone to bed and dreamed of dancing with Stiles in a ring of bright blue lights. Their laughter making the night more brilliant and perfect over the symphony that played their tune.

He switches to a different leaf on which he's mashed a tiny amount of sap and blended it with a different color. He paints a red hoodie on Stiles, because he has to, of course. He paints the wolf black, and adds decorative dabbles for the feathers and rings and beads in his ruff. He blows on the figures to help them dry. The pigments smell of pollen and berrires. The skull takes the inks remarkably well.

When he's done for today, and the paint has mostly dried, he holds the mask up. 

This will make a fine gift.

* * *

They're on the hike together, exploring the woods hand-in-hand. 

"Why is it you don't shift when you're wearing the mask?" Stiles asks Derek, finally remembering to ask the question when Derek is within talking distance.

"I just can't. The mask has a lot of amazing powers, but it doesn't seem to allow me to control my shift."

"Oh, crap, that explains a lot. I thought you were just going to be stubborn about it, ever since you first showed-up."

Derek stops to look at him. "You made the mask for a shape shifter and forgot we needed to shape shift?"

"Technically, I reasoned that you didn't want to shift because you'd be blushing and adorably dorky and so I just you have that for yourself." He squeezes Derek's hand. "Technically, however, I made the original mask for my familiar, and I had expected something a lot less... wholly supernatural than a full-blooded werecreature."

"And speaking of that, your dad told me something I'm very sure you will never want my mother to know about. It seems you spoke with him about your discovery of the Hales as werewolves, and managed to tell him that you thought we were just 'weird dogs'?"

Stiles laughs. "No! I didn't say that! He's lying and he's a lying liar." Derek sets his fingertips against Stiles' ribcage, and the younger man darts back. "No! Don't tickle me!"

Derek's eyes glow red, and he can see the magical lines around everything. Stiles is a lightningstorm wrapped in human form. It's one of the most beautiful things. And right now, that beautiful thing needs to suffer tickle torture just a little bit longer.

Stiles is gasping and laughing and hugging Derek back. "Stop, or I'll quit hugging you!" Derek stills, and hugs him back. "I'm sorry, but I totally get that now. Back then, it was like… just a hypothetical situation. I didn't even know I could pull that whole thing off." He sneaks a kiss to Derek's cheek. "I'm glad I gave it a go anyway."

When they stop for their picnic, Derek pulls the mask out and shows Stiles the artwork inside, and the large triskelion Derek had painted attractively off-center of the mask.

"Can you make this one like the other one?"

"Yup, I can."

"Can you also make sure I can, 1) take it off when I want to, and 2) shift to beta or human forms while wearing it?"

"I can do anything. I can add a marshmallow dispenser, too, if you want."

"Oh, god, no. That's insane. I don't need marshmallows again, not for a long time. That was the one thing I craved when we went to the store after coming back. I ate the entire bag to myself. It was not a good day."

"Serves you right for shopping when you were hungry."

"Somebody built a whole new house and forgot that that people, even supernatural people, need to eat. You left the house completely empty. It was a very stressful morning."

"Eh, you stuff your pie-hole with sugary goodness, sourwolf. That's what you get." Stiles snickers at him.

"Not this, again. Really?"

"What, have I tainted your poor, innocent mind?"

"This conversation needs to end. They're not even good innuendo jokes."

Stiles cuddles-up to him. "Are you sure? They don't make you think of things that go innuendo and out the other?" 

Derek growls loudly, but Stiles is holding him around the torso, so it's mostly a purr.

"HEY!" Stiles shouts in mock defensiveness. "I'm still mostly human! If you bite me, do I not bleed? And, if you ... umm... I forget the rest." Derek looks unimpressed at Stiles and the man's inability to accurately quote things that aren't from the comics. " don't want anyone messing-around with my magic, either. In fact you wolves need some classes to improve your manners. I know just the pet store where---"

Derek grabs him in a hug and buries his face in Stiles' neck, making biting motions with his teeth and using lots of tongue to get him all wet.

"Bwaaggghgh!! You're marking me with your spit, you filthy dog!"

Derek growls. Stiles shuts-up and twitches. "That was kinda hot." Derek growls again, letting back on the irritation with the string of dog jokes, and putting some more sensual affection into it.

"Oooh, yes, that's quite nice."

"Stiles?" Derek asks, cooing at the man in his arms.

"Yes, love?" Stiles asks, surprised and welcoming the sudden warmth in the wolf's expression.

"You're weird."

"Eh, that's two of us."

Derek shifts to wolf form and runs his tongue up the other man's face, then tears-off through the forest as Stiles chases him.

"I told you so! Who goes and transforms into a wolf just to do the biggest, grossest face slobber ever? Honestly!"


End file.
